


Easy Rider

by CorneliaGrey



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hannibal on a motorbike is extremely hot, M/M, Mexico, Mexico is hot, Motorbikes are hot, Motorcycle Sex, Murder Husbands, Post-Season/Series 04 AU, Will has to do something about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:53:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25294993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorneliaGrey/pseuds/CorneliaGrey
Summary: Maybe it’s the thrill of the ride, the roar of the engine, or the way Hannibal looks straddling a goddamn motorcycle, but Will feels reckless, and wonders if asking Hannibal to pull over so he can drop to his knees in the dirt and blow him to the side of the road is that crazy of an idea.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 27
Kudos: 339





	Easy Rider

\---

The first time he sees Hannibal riding a motorcycle, Will thinks he might have a stroke.

He watches him come rumbling up the road, squinting in the afternoon sun outside their house, tucked away in the Chiapas jungle. The bike’s a sleek black scrambler, dented and muddied and a little beat up—but the engine’s rumble’s deep and powerful, a rough-voiced siren humming with the promise of endless, sun-scorched roads.

Hannibal stops before him, foot coming down to brace the bike as he gives one last twist to the throttle to make the bike roar before he kicks her into neutral and lets her purr. His thighs are leisurely spread around the large black tank, his bare arms lifted to grasp the high handlebars. He’s wearing black jeans and boots, a faded t-shirt and a pair of smokey Ray-Ban. He tilts them up, eyes crinkling as he shoots Will an unrepentant grin.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

Will opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s gone dry, and the heat in his stomach has got nothing to do with the blazing Mexican sun above them.

Hannibal’s hair’s longer now and it falls all over his forehead, ruffled by the wind. To Will’s surprise, it turned out Hannibal tans fast, and his bronzed skin looks good enough to eat. The hollow of his throat is coated in a glistening sheen of sweat, and Will wants nothing more than to put his tongue there—he manages to hold back, though he can’t drag his gaze away.

Hannibal’s grin grows entirely too smug as he rakes his hand through his damp hair. “I take it you like her.”

Will takes a step forward and places his palm on the rounded tank. It’s matte black, scratched in places, gleaming and hot. The bike vibrates under his hand, rumbling low—it makes him think of a purring panther, all coiled strength and controlled danger. Not so different from Hannibal, who leans back on the saddle, thighs comfortably spread and stretching the denim of his jeans, with all the smug confidence of a predator.

The heat abruptly flares up to Will’s brain, with catastrophic effects on his ability to think straight. So he flicks his gaze up to be mirrored in Hannibal’s sunglasses, lips twisting into a smirk as he says, “Going my way?”

Hannibal’s teeth gleam white as a laugh rumbles up from deep inside his chest. His lips are chapped by the sun. He laughs more, these days, the smiles coming easier and more genuine, and it looks good on him. It makes Will want to kiss him every single time.

“I believe that’s my line,” Hannibal quips back, with a throaty chuckle that lands straight below Will’s belt. He pats the brown leather saddle. “Hop on.”

Will unhooks his own sunglasses from the neck of his shirt and puts them on, bracing his hand on Hannibal’s shoulder to swing his leg astride the saddle. He settles with his chest pressed against Hannibal’s warm back, his thighs spread around Hannibal’s hips, and wraps his arm around Hannibal’s waist, hand splayed on his abdomen.

“Okay?” Hannibal asks, and waits for Will to rest his chin over his shoulder and nod before he kicks the bike into gear and the engine roars to life. He keeps his foot on the ground as he twists the bike in a sharp turn and takes off, and Will’s pretty sure the cloud of dust they leave behind is just Hannibal’s way of showing off.

And oh, it’s _glorious_.

The road’s a black ribbon weaving through the thick jungle, the heat a heavy weight on Will’s shoulders, his back. Even the wind is hot where it whips at his hair, his face. The bike vibrates between his legs as he listens to the engine revving up, feels Hannibal’s muscles shift as he kicks in a higher gear and twists his wrist to give more gas.

He’s good a this, Will can tell—he’s got the panther tamed and it shows in how he unleashes her roaring along endless stretches of straight road, in how he follows the bike with his whole body as he leans smoothly to weave along winding curves.

The road’s empty, blurry and wavering in the sun—Hannibal’s shirt is damp with sweat and so’s his nape, and Will gently presses his lips there, to the side of his neck, breathing him in. The muscles in Hannibal’s jaw tighten just so as he takes his left hand off the handlebar to place it on top of Will’s where it rests on his stomach, giving it a brief squeeze. His palm is rough and warm and Will’s ridiculously turned on, and wonders if asking Hannibal to pull over so he can drop to his knees in the dirt and blow him to the side of the road is _that_ crazy of an idea.

Maybe it’s the thrill of the ride, the roar of the engine, or the way Hannibal looks straddling a goddamn motorcycle, but Will feels reckless. He slowly drags his hand to the buckle of his belt, then steadily lower—he brushes his thumb over the button of Hannibal’s jeans, the jagged line of the zipper, until he can cup his hand over the bulge of Hannibal’s cock. He holds it there, a thrill crackling down his body as he waits for Hannibal’s reaction. Fuck—they’re on a motorbike shot at full speed like a bullet and Will’s seriously considering unzipping Hannibal’s jeans to get him off, this is _insane_ —but right now? He doesn’t give a single, solitary fuck.

Hannibal’s arms flex as he tightens his grip on the handlebars, but he doesn’t slow down an inch—no, the crazy bastard opens the throttle and the bike’s roar ricochets in the air as they shoot down the road faster still. The wind’s whipping at Will’s face and Hannibal’s body is strong and scorching hot against his and this _is_ insane, dangerous and reckless and fucking exhilarating like everything is when they’re together.

Will feels drunk on it. He’s hard, pressed flush against Hannibal’s ass, and he’s not even trying to be subtle now as he moves his hand in slow, firm strokes, thrilled when he feels Hannibal’s cock twitch and fill under his touch. Hannibal shifts his hips, spreads his thighs wider, and Will grasps him shamelessly, tongue darting out to taste sweat and dust on the side of Hannibal’s neck.

The road’s gone narrow and uneven, twisting under a canopy of luscious trees, but the cool shade does nothing to cool Will down. A ruined wooden structure pokes out of the vegetation, and the engine purrs down as Hannibal quickly shifts gears and comes to a stop under the dried banana leaf awning. He’s barely killed the engine before he’s twisting back, and Will cranes his neck to capture his mouth. The angle’s awkward and their sunglasses in the way but it’s enough for a crooked, filthy open-mouthed kiss, a messy clash of tongue and teeth and dusty lips that has Will gasping as he presses his hips harder against Hannibal’s ass, strokes him harder through his jeans.

It’s almost too hard to pull back, out of breath and dizzy with arousal, and get off the bike, but Hannibal’s thighs are trembling and his breathing’s growing ragged and God, Will can’t wait another fucking second.

“You want me to drive us into a tree?” Hannibal huffs a laugh, kicking down the stand, but Will can see a flush on his high cheekbones that he’s fairly sure has got nothing to do with the heat and the wind. His shirt’s got a damp patch down the middle and his hair glistens with sweat as he pushes it out of his forehead before hooking his sunglasses in the collar of his shirt. He looks wild and rough and dangerous, and Will is losing his goddamn mind.

“What I _want_ ,” he grips Hannibal’s cock firmly, dragging a hiss out of him. “Is to get my mouth on you.”

He keeps just out of Hannibal’s reach, luring him to sling his leg over the saddle to face him, leaning against the bike. The engine’s clinking from the scorching heat, like it’s got handfuls of pennies jingling inside, and Hannibal’s hand fists in Will’s damp hair, dragging him by the nape in another deep, searing kiss.

That is, until Will abruptly pulls back, and falls to his knees in the dust.

“Someone could... come along,” Hannibal swallows, looking down at him, hands now clenched at his sides as he braces against the saddle.

“We haven’t seen a soul in miles. No one will come,” Will says, working at Hannibal’s belt, yanking his zipper down. He pulls Hannibal’s cock out, thick and hard and mouth-watering, lips hovering close to the glistening tip. It’s almost too difficult to look away and up, into Hannibal’s impossibly dark eyes. “And if someone does, I’ll just kill them.”

Maybe he’s joking, another of the fucked-up games they play, but his words send a shudder through Hannibal’s body—his cock twitches in Will’s grasp, his throat working as he swallows. And maybe, Will thinks through a haze of dark exhilaration, maybe he’s never been as serious in his entire fucking life.

He takes Hannibal in his mouth, hot and heavy, his eyes never leaving Hannibal’s as he licks and sucks, stroking the base with his hand. He moans around the girth of him when Hannibal’s hand finds his hair again, clutching hard. Hannibal’s mouth is parted, his chest heaving, skin glistening with sweat—Will wants to lick every inch of him, and later he will take his time driving Hannibal insane all over again, and Hannibal will let him. Hannibal always lets him. But now—now he parts his knees in the dirt, making room for the erection straining in his jeans, and hums around Hannibal’s cock, taking him as deep as he can. There’s a sting of pain from Hannibal’s grip on his hair every time he pulls back before sucking him back down. Hannibal’s hips stutter as he thrusts lazily into Will’s mouth, looking down at him through the pale hair falling over his eyes, alight with a dark hunger that sends a shudder all the way to Will’s cock. God, he’s fucking _gorgeous_ , and Will pins him against the motorbike as he sucks harder, pumps him faster, ravenous for the taste of him.

Hannibal’s abdomen tenses—he throws his head back, a low groan torn from his lips as he comes, spilling thick and hot in Will’s mouth. Will can’t hold back a moan of his own, cock twitching in his pants as he swallows, greedy and messy and entirely unashamed. He keeps on sucking lazily, using his tongue to coax helpless moans out of Hannibal until he feels him tense, and only then does Will reluctantly pull back.

He leans his head against Hannibal’s trembling thigh as he tucks him back and fastens his jeans. Hannibal’s hand comes down to cup his cheek, thumb brushing over his lips, and when he looks up Hannibal’s eyes are glassy, a high flush on his cheekbones.

“Will,” he breathes, beckons him, and Will can’t possibly resist. His whole life’s been an inevitable collision course drawing him to Hannibal, and that’s not about to change anytime soon. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

He surges up and Hannibal’s arms are around him, Will’s hand on Hannibal’s neck, the other fisted in his shirt as their mouths come together in a slow, languid kiss, all wet heat and lingering hunger. Will’s cock throbs and he can’t hold back a moan as he closes his eyes and presses against Hannibal, letting his strong arms steady him.

When he pulls back his head’s spinning, and his breath is shaky when he whispers “Fuck,” hair falling in his eyes. Hannibal’s gaze is so smoldering it makes breathing damn near impossible. When he cups his straining erection through his jeans, what little breath Will’s got left catches, but his hand shoots out to snatch Hannibal’s wrist in a firm grip.

“No,” Will says, teeth bared in a feral smile. “When I come, it’s gonna be with you bent over this bike for me.” He leans in to nuzzle the corner of Hannibal’s jaw, letting his teeth scrape the warm skin there. When he speaks, his lips brush Hannibal’s stubble. “Now, that can happen back home, or I can fuck you right here.”

He feels Hannibal’s groan with his whole body, and bares his teeth again.

“Though if anyone comes along, I _will_ have to stop to actually kill them.” He looks up in Hannibal’s eyes, eyebrows raised in that arrogant look that never fails to make Hannibal’s knees weak. “Nobody but me gets to see you like that.”

He’s not joking at all, now. Hannibal’s gaze darts down to his lips, his free hand tightening on Will’s hip—he’s actually considering it, fuck, chances are the thought just turns him on. Finally, he tilts his head to the side, mouth curled in a crooked grin, eyes gleaming like there’s oil in their depths, just waiting for a lit match which Will is all too happy to provide.

“Home it is, then,” Hannibal rumbles, his sharp teeth gleaming as he speaks. “I couldn’t... tolerate any interruptions.”

Will lets Hannibal’s wrist go and they mount on the saddle again. He pushes his hips against Hannibal to make sure he’ll feel his erection all the way home, and puts his lips on Hannibal’s neck. “So drive,” he says. “ _Fast_.”

Hannibal shoots him the dirtiest grin before he kicks down on the starter and the engine roars to life.

**Author's Note:**

> Liberally inspired by my motorbike road trip across Mexico.  
> Also, while they don't wear helmets because of kissy reasons, always wear a helmet.


End file.
